


(we're) already home

by SublimeDiscordance



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: "Home For The Holidays" AU, Alternate Universe - No Kaiju, Dorks in Love, M/M, Sibling Incest, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/SublimeDiscordance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just Herc/Scott holiday fluff. Loosely based on the Folgers "Home for the Holidays" commercial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(we're) already home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suyari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/gifts), [kuro49](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/gifts), [StrikersInDanger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikersInDanger/gifts).



> For those who have not seen said commercial, it can be found [on youtube here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZnqBL6iYjA). It's hysterical. (And apparently it's since had its official name changed from "Home for the Holidays" to "Brother and Sister")
> 
> Anyway, this is a gift for several people for several different reasons. Suffice to say, I love you all dearly and you all inspired this in your own way. <3

Spending Christmas alone isn’t something new for Scott. After Herc’d enlisted, left, and been deployed straight out of basic, their mom and dad—if the man could even be called that, really—had taken to ignoring him. Which was, in Scott’s opinion, far better than the shouting matches that’d preceded. All the usual suspects: why didn’t he like _manly_ things like cars and guns and shit like that; why was he always bloody _reading_? Why couldn’t be be more like his brother?

Which, in Scott’s opinion, had been one of the most insane things their father had hurled at him. It was _impossible_ to be Herc. After all, perfection was never something you could actually _reach_. At least, not something that Scott could ever reach.

After Herc had left, though, their father seemed to have given up on Scott. Had practically thrown him out the door when he’d graduated high school. That suited Scott just fine. Their mother hadn’t done anything, but, well...Scott knew well enough that she couldn’t do much to help him. He couldn’t hold that against her.

 

 

He doesn’t look up from his book when he hears wheels crunching to a halt in the snow outside. Turns the page to the sounds of doors and a trunk slamming as an engine idles in the cold, pulling his sweater closer about him. The damn heat doesn’t work right, and the space heater he’d turned on when he’d come to the small kitchen is taking its sweet-ass time. His blanket is slipping, so he leans over to wrap it around his shoulders again, leaning into the cool surface of the bay window—itself the sole reason why there’s a stack of books against the fridge instead of out in the living room. 

He does look up, though, when he hears a familiar voice through the double panes of glass.

There’s snow clinging to the outside, but Scott taps the window perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary to knock some of it off. Swears lowly when his breath fogs the glass as he leans in closer to get a better look. Wipes that away with the sleeve of his sweater almost frantically. Drops his book on the assortment of cushions he’s crammed into his “nest”—his friend Angela calls it that whenever she comes over—and bolts to the front door as footsteps make their way up the front walk. The wall of frozen air that hits him in the face is followed by the sight of his brother standing on his snow-covered stoop, fist poised to knock, duffel on his shoulder and parka wrapped over a military uniform.

Scott speaks before he can stop himself, voice hoarse from disuse.

“Herc?”

His brother’s face splits into a soft grin, eyes sparkling and dimples flashing in that way that always makes— _has always made_ —Scott’s knees go weak.

“Oh, must have the wrong flat. Sorry mate, I’ll just—” He moves to hike his duffel further up his shoulder, managing all of a quarter turn before Scott’s body moves. He practically dives out into the cold, ignores the sharp stab of it on his bare feet and hands and the way he can feel the gentle breeze trying to wriggle its way through his sweatpants. Wraps his arms around his brother’s neck and crushes their bodies together, vision blurring. Realizes only when strong arms wrap around him as well that he’s speaking.

“You’re _here_ , you’re _real_ , you’re _really here_ Le’, you’re...I—”

“Shh,” Herc leans back, cuts him off with a soft press of a finger to Scott’s lips. “It’s okay, Scotty. I’m here.”

Scott has to swallow the lump that’s formed in his throat, doesn’t— _can’t_ —look away from his brother’s eyes.

“I...I missed you, Le’.”

“I missed you too, Scotty,” that smile is still there, still making Scott’s knees knock together like a goddamn teenager all over again—nineteen is only _technically_ a teenager, he tells himself. "You gonna invite me in? Or're we just gonna stand out here all morning?"

Scott doesn't move right away. Doesn't let himself slip as he absorbs this one moment, commits this one perfect instant to memory: Herc's hand winding down and curling about his waist, cheeks rosy, breath fogging in the light reflected back from the snow. Those steel-blue eyes sparkling brighter than anything else, trapping the air in Scott’s lungs because fuck he’d almost forgotten how _beautiful_ his brother is.

(That’s not true he could never— _would_ never—forget)

“I-it’s two in the aftern-n-noon, Le'.”

Herc rolls his eyes, smiles wider. Leans in to brush his nose against Scott’s.

“C’mon, Scotty, let’s get you inside before you lose your damn feet.”

Though he makes a token sound of protest, Scott lets his brother push him back through the door, touch gentle. The linoleum of the foyer feels warm to his numb feet, and his sweatshirt is suddenly too hot. His fingers grab at the edges, tugging at them half-heartedly. He watches as Herc frees himself of his duffel, then his boots and jacket, and unwinds his scarf. Places his boots by the door and the rest in a neat pile on top of his duffel before turning to Scott. _Fuck_ , but Le’ looks good in his uniform.

“Anywhere in particular I should put all that or…?”

Scott blinks, shaking his head to clear the errant thoughts.

“I, uh, I don’t have a couch. Or much of anything, really. Sorry.” He makes a gesture with his hands that he aborts halfway through when he realizes he’s not even sure what it’s supposed to mean. “I mean, if you want, you can take my bed. I have a sleeping bag from before it got here that I can use and—”

“That sounds fine,” the smile Scott gets carries a certain edge to it that makes his guts curl in on themselves, and not in an unpleasant way. Herc grabs his things and hoists them into his arms, pointing with his chin. “Lead the way.”

Scott’s bedroom is past the kitchen, past the small bathroom, and through the bare living room. The full-size bed dominates the center of the scant space, with his desk piled high with yet more books shoved off to the side. The only sign of decoration is the pair of green and blue blackout curtains hanging over the room’s single window.

“Sorry, I know it’s not much—” Scott starts, the carpet scratching at his feet as he walks around the bed to get at his tiny closet, pushing various articles of clothing aside to get to the back.

“It’s fine, Scotty.” He hears his brother’s things make soft contact with the floor. Ever the gentleman, never mind that Scott lives on the bottom floor of his building. When he turns, sleeping bag in hand, he doesn’t expect the fierce light behind Herc’s eyes, behind his smile. “More than good. Out here on your own? ‘M proud of you.”

Scott looks down at his hands, face flaming, words clogged in his throat. Turns the bundle over once or twice before he hears movement, and then Le’ is right there, palms closing over Scott’s fingers, warm and calloused. His head jerks back up at the spark that goes through his entire body at the contact, eyes meeting his brother’s.

Herc’s smile is still the same, though the edge has gone, leaving behind nothing but warmth.

“Thanks, Scotty. I can handle that.”

It takes Scott a full three seconds of staring at the space his brother’d just vacated before he catches on to the way Le’ is opening the sleeping bag’s drawstring bag and is spreading it on the floor. He moves with a kind of easy proficiency, has the whole thing done in less time than it takes Scott to blink and come back around the bed.

“There, that oughta work just fine,” he surveys his handiwork before looking back up at Scott. “You got a spare pillow or anything?”

“Le’, n- _no_ ,” he’s doing that thing with his hands again, but Scott can’t make himself care, “you’re not sleeping on the _floor_. I told you, you’re taking the bed.”

“No,” Herc’s calm cheer is unfazed, “it’s your bed, Scotty, so _you’re_ taking the bed. I’m perfectly fine with the bag.”

“Le’, I _will_ fight you—”

“You’ll lose.”

Scott sticks out his tongue—childish maybe, but Herc’s always been able to bring out the kid in him—and keeps going.

“—and I _will_ win, and you _will_ take the bed, or so help me—”

“No.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I will bloody not.”

“Yes.

“No, Scotty.”

“Yes, _Le_ ’.”

“No.”

“ _Yes_.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Herc snorts, rolling his eyes, “we’ll do it your way. We’ll share the fuckin’ bed.”

“Thank you!” Scott breathes a sigh before the words catch up to him. “Wait—”

But Le’s already moved his duffel from the floor to the bed, is rummaging around inside of it. Looks up to catch Scott’s eye, patting the sheets.

“C’mere.”

Scott sighs. Just to be difficult, he moves to the opposite side, then crawls up over the mattress and flops on his stomach, head in his hands. It puts him about headheight with his brother’s waist, and he tells himself he’s not going to think about it, not gonna think about how easy it'd be to just reach out, with how distracted Herc is by his bag, and—whoops, too fucking late, there go the thoughts.

Le’ gives him a sidelong glance before rolling his eyes again.

“Brat.”

“Drongo.”

That gets him another snort.

“Bludger.”

“Ass.”

“Finally.”

Scott blinks, frowning.

“Wha—”

“Sit up,” Le’ flicks him in the forehead, eyes still in his bag. “Got something for ya.”

“Fucker,” Scott complains, but rolls over anyway.

Red. Bright red fills his vision when he finally manages to haul himself up into a sitting position. He has to blink once before it clicks that there’s a small, red-wrapped package in his face. A red-wrapped package with a ridiculous silver bow perched on top of it. A red-wrapped package— _present_ , his mind finally catches on—with a ridiculous silver bow that’s in his brother’s hand, thrust at him.

He blinks again.

Red. Red on Le’s face as his brother smiles widely—almost too widely—cheeks a ~~beautifuladorablecute _fuck_~~ bright shade of pink.

“What’s this?” He slaps himself internally the second the words are out of his mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Just open it, will ya?”

His gaze is stuck on the box in his hands before something occurs to him. He grins up at his brother through his eyelashes. Rips the bow off and sticks it to the front of Herc’s uniform. To say the look he gets is less than amused is an understatement.

“What?” He sticks his tongue out—christ, twice in one day—to distract himself from the nerves that ratchet up his spine as his next words tumble out. “You’re my present this year.” 

His brother’s face freezes for only a half-moment—less than one of Scott’s heartbeats—before it softens, the red fading, if only slightly.

“Cute, Scotty. Now open it.” He waves at the package in Scott’s hands. Pointedly does _not_ remove the bow from his chest.

“But I didn’t get you anything.”

“Scott…”

Scott huffs, but complies, careful to keep his hands steady as he tears apart the paper. Inside there's a small, oblong cardboard box. It makes a jingling noise when Scott lifts it to his ear and shakes experimentally.

“Will you just—” Herc starts, sounding every bit the exasperated older brother, but Scott’s already got the top off the box and is peeling back the tissue paper. When he reaches the center, his breath catches in his chest. He hears Herc breathe in at the same time, doesn’t hear the following breath out. His hand shakes when he runs his fingertips over the scratched surface, over his brother’s name pressed into the octagon of metal, making it rattle against the circle tag it’s hooked to.

“Le’,” Scott starts, but the bed sinking as his brother sits next to him, their shoulders brushing, cuts him off. Draws his gaze away from the “HANSEN HD” his nail’s been tracing over and over.

“I know it’s stupid and, I dunno, sappy or whatever,” Le’ shrugs, not quite looking at him, “but, I mean, I wanted you to have ‘em. So you can, y’know,” another shrug, “have ‘em. When I’m not here.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

Scott wants to slap himself— _again_ —when that’s the first thing out of his mouth. Le’, though, chuckles lowly. The sound runs straight up and down Scott’s spine, and he _really_ hopes his squirming isn’t noticeable.

“Nah, I actually lost ‘em a couple months back. Had to get new ones. Then found these,” he gestures at the tags nestled in the box, “hiding at the bottom of my shit. And I, I wanted you to, y’know—”

his brother makes the same sort of flailing, half-aborted motion Scott did earlier, and Scott’s entire body goes warm, his gut churning.

“Don’t you usually give something like this to, I dunno,” Scott bites his lip, but it’s not enough to stop the words from coming out, “girlfriends or something?”

But Herc’s shaking his head, actually looking at him now. If he weren’t already sitting, Scott’s fairly certain his knees would’ve gone weak under the force of that look.

“Nah. More like to our most important person.”

His brother’s hand drifts onto his thigh just above his knee, squeezing lightly, the warmth of it feeling like goddamn fire even through his sweats. Scott nearly loses his goddamn mind right then and there, his chest feeling like it’s filling with hot air, because there is no _way_ this is happening right now. No _fucking_ _way_ —

“So, you’re saying,” his mouth is on autopilot and fuck he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to, “they’re supposed to go to, say, the most significant person in your life?”

“I mean,” the blush is back full-force now, “I guess, if you wanted to take it that, you could—”

“Specifically,” Scott cuts him off, “a significant other person?

“Well, I, uh, Scotty, I mean, maybe yeah—”

“Like,” he swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, “a significant other?”

There’s a half-second where the pressure in his chest feels like it’s going to tear him apart, where Le’ just stares at him with his eyes wider than Scott’s ever seen them. It feels like it stretches on forever, this moment where he’s laid his fucking heart out there, on the line to be brutally destroyed by the one person in his life who’s ever meant anything to him. The one person who’s been a constant in Scott’s life, even when he wasn’t there. He wants to tear out his own fucking heart, just to get it to stop it from bruising itself more against the inside of his ribcage.

But then Le’ nods.

Scott launches himself forward, arms wrapping around his brother as his pushes their lips together with a force that startles even him. He can hear the box land somewhere on the bed behind him, and all the warmth swirling in his chest, the pressure and heat and tension, bleed out of him in a whimper, his eyes slipping shut, when he feels Herc’s lips moving against his.

Le’s _kissing him back_.

It’s just a dry press of lips against lips, both of them chapped from the cold. Herc’s stubble bites into Scott’s skin, and he just _knows_ he’s going to have beard burn all over his face later. Their noses are mashing together, and Herc’s hands have taken hold of Scott’s biceps, gripping so hard there will probably be bruises left behind.

It’s perfect.

When they finally pull apart, Scott’s breathing heavily through his nose. Feels like he’s run—no, fuck that, _flown_ —a lap around the goddamn world.

“So, uh,” seriously, it should be illegal to look that good when blushing like that, “does that mean you like them?”

He can’t help it. Scott laughs in his brother’s face, then laughs harder at how Herc’s eyes cross to focus with him so close. Reaches behind himself to fish the tags out of their package, and clasps them around his neck. Keeps eye contact with Herc as he takes the tags themselves in hand and slips them beneath his sweatshirt. Maybe feels a not-so-small thrill rush through him at the low sound his brother makes at the sight, or the way those steel-blue eyes have lit up with a very different kind of heat.

“I love them, Le’.” He tilts his head to the side, as if considering. “But, now, I feel even worse that I didn’t get you anything.”

Without missing a beat, Le’ takes the bow from his own chest and sticks it to Scott’s.

“How about _you’re_ _my_ present this year?”

Blood pounding in his ears, Scott looks down at it then back up at his brother.

“So, y’wanna open your present, Le’?”

Suffice to say, they end up sharing the bed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I modeled the tags after Australian Defense Force tags. All the RAAF tag examples/designs I could find seemed to match with those. (I tried I swear!)
> 
> More generally, the last...half(?) of this was written in about an hour of frenzied writing and re-writing. I looked it over, but if I missed something feel free to let me know.


End file.
